Ghosts Sample
by Liahona
Summary: An escapee from the breakout has returned to New York city and is ready to make sure that no one will be sane.


A shadowy figure of a rather tall and burly man stood over a grave. He dug something from a small sack from his waist and waved it over the grave. For a split second, the small dust he had thrown was caught in the moonlight, before landing on the graves freshly churned dirt.

Now you may think, that's not incredibly unusual, but the fact that it wasn't silent, and that the grave yard was surrounded by the streets of New York city, and the lights were always on, it was near impossible to catch _any _moonlight anywhere, even in Central Park.

The man waited for a moment, and retrieved a small jar from one his large pockets as a small wisp of blue smoke floated up out of the grave. He caught it in the jar and placed the lid on it. He brought it close to his face to look at the small thing, which gently illuminated his face. He put his ear up to the glass and closed his eyes, listening to the wisp's whispers.

Finally, five minutes later, he put the jar back in his pocket, puckered his lips and released a long, high-pitched whistle. A large, black horse trotted up a moment later. Even as tall as the man was, the horse was larger, towering over him. He put a hand on the horse's muzzle.

"Hey Firestarter. Find some nice grass?" The man whispered. The horse tossed its head. To anyone at a distance, this horse would look like a handsome, large, black stallion. Closer you would realize that not only was it just that, but it had deathly red eyes.

"Good horse. C'mon, we've finished this place. Off to Arizona." The man said softly. He mounted the large horse with ease, and clucked his tongue.

"Softly now, Firestarter. We're in a city. Wait 'till we get out of ear shot." He said to the horse. The horse stamped a hoof but started on a slow and gentle pace. The man sat in the saddle, hunched over. As the horse moved, there was a soft clinking of jars that hung from the saddle and from the man's pockets and belt. Each one had wisps inside, each a different color and gently illuminating the glass. A shadow watched from the gate of the graveyard as the horse and it's rider passed under it. The pair stopped just outside.

"Do you need something, good sir?" The man asked, looking up at the shadow on the gate. The shadow cursed, and climbed down. It was Panther, from the Avengers, a group of super hero's who dwelled in the city.

"Your eyes are sharp." The Panther said coolly in his African accent.

"I didn't need my eyes to see a shadow in the sky." The rider growled, and tapped his ear with a finger.

"I assure you, I was silent." The Panther hissed.

"I assure you, the living cannot be silent." The rider replied. "Now what do you need, Panther?"

"I need nothing."

"The one who watches always has something they want."

"Wise words."

"Aye, now what do you need?"

"I've already stated—"

"As have I. Now what words do you wish to hear from me?" The Panther bowed his head, thinking.

"Who are you, and what do you do?" The rider leaned back in his saddle.

"I am Joe. If you wish for the truth, I collect souls and carry them great distances."

"Well Joe, I find this improbable. You cannot collect souls, they float on their own."

"The cursed dirt traps them, T'Chala. I help them out and help them on their way. I see there is more you wish to know."

"Yes. What do you look like, your hood hides all appearance." Panther said. The Man sighed, and scratched his neck under his thick hood.

"I caution you, not all who see what hides under this hood walk away unscarred and without questions." The rider warned, and removed his hood. Panther gasped and fell back.

"F-father?" He stuttered. The face of the rider was that of Panther's dead father, a face he had not seen for two years. The rider shook his head.

"Nay, you see only what face you've wanted to see." The rider again hid his face beneath his hood. "I bid you farewell, Panther. I have souls to collect in Arizona, and hopefully a good book." With that, he pulled the reins of his horse, turning it away and leaving Panther sitting there, unsure of what he had seen.

Eventually, the rider had gone, and Panther had realized that he had not dreamed this. T'Chala rose, and leaned on the gate for support. Was this a dream, or a sick joke? Was it real?

"Wait, who?" Tony Stark asked. A day has passed since Panther's incident with the rider, and he hadn't said anything about it. The whole Avenger's team was in their conference room, and speaking with the leader of Shield, Nick Fury himself.

"Exactly, Stark, who. We captured this guy about five years before the breakout, and could not get a name or history anywhere of this guy. All we could do was get a sketch of who he was, his picture, DNA sample, and thumbprints. But even when we ran it through the system, nothing came up. The guys a ghost. No one saw him in the breakout, but we know he's out." Nick Fury explained. He plugged in a small computer chip into Jarvis, and a picture of the escapee appeared.

"Ugly guy, huh?" Janet, or, the Wasp, remarked. The man's face was sunken in, his cheekbones sticking out and he looked unnaturally thin. His black-ringed, frost-blue eyes stared out blankly into space, and his shaggy brown hair just barely touched the tops of his ravaged ears. Despite his appearance, he was hauntingly young.

"How old is this guy?" Hawkeye asked.

"Twenty-one years old." Nick replied.

"What'd he do, and what can he do?" Antman spoke.

"We're not quite sure how to explain it, but basically, when I sent my guys against him, they'd stop as soon as they got close to him and black out. What'd he do was rob a bank, typical but still punishable." Fury explained. Tony nodded.

"And why are you asking us for help, Fury?"

"Because, Stark, he's back in town, and I can't even get close to this guy." The two men eyed each other for a second.

"Fine, we'll try. But just for the record, I'm only doing this because I can't wait to see the look on your face when we catch this guy as soon as we get out there." Stark said smugly.

"Now how do we find him?" Thor asked.

"Well, he's reportedly had a few accomplices in the city, and we've managed to get a few clues on one guy. Jarvis, show 'Josh Carin'." Nick ordered.

"Yes sir." The haunting picture of the nameless ghost-man disappeared and was replaced by a picture of a considerably healthier-looking young man, with shaggy brown hair, green eyes, and three scar-lines on his right cheek.

"We've tried a few different places with this guy, but we can't find him. But he lives in New York, that's for sure." Nick said firmly.

"Okay, we'll find this guy and I bet he'll sing like a bird." Captain America said, grinning.


End file.
